


Yew bknow I lub yew wright?

by Shaish



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky's so done, Can be read as slash if you squint, Either Or, Gen, Steeb - Freeform, The flu, being sick, bucket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucket's gonnab kll'em.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yew bknow I lub yew wright?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little something. Was talking in a group chat and Steve and Bucky calling each other _Steeb_ and _Bucket_ came up. It's all Sarah and Chloe's faults.

Steve sneezes, barely catches it with a tissue while he _groans_ , folding and dropping the tissue into the bag they’re sharing on the floor between them before dropping his head back onto the couch, letting out another, pitiful groan.

“I haven’t been this achey sindce behfore the _seerum_ ,” he doesn’t quite whine. Okay, maybe just a little. But in his defense, it’s been about four _years_ since he’s had to deal with this.

Bucky snorts, or tries to, but it mostly just comes out like a deep gurgle before he gags on it a little and throws his arm out for another tissue, just barely catching his own disgusting sneeze.

“This is such _bdullshit_ ,” he complains, muffled into the tissue, and makes a disgusted face at it before dropping it into the bag on top of Steve’s, “I’m going to kll A.I.M.’a for this.” Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean that literally.

He’s _mostly_ sure.

“ _The good news is, you’ll be back to normal in twelve hours_ ,” Sam says from the holoscreen floating above the coffee table, mouth curving and brows drawing together in sympathy, “ _The bad news is, you’ll be back to normal in **twelve** **hours**_.”

Bucky let’s out a froggy ‘ _Ugh_ ’ and rolls over onto his side, presses his face into the back of the couch and buries his feet between Steve’s lower back and the cushions. Steve lets out a small _grunt_ but lets them stay, his own wrapped up in three pairs of socks on the floor.

“Gonna _kll’em_ ,” Bucky groans into the cushion, coughing and pulling his blanket up over his shoulder up to his cheek, “ _All’ve’em_.” Steve manages to lift his arm enough to pat Bucky’s calf twice and Bucky curls up a little further like he’s searching for warmth. Steve’s eyes close and he falls asleep for a while after that.

\--

A sound wakes Steve some time later and he manages to crack his crusty eyes open, only to slant them over and find the source of the noise. 

Bucky wretches into the trashcan beside his end of the couch and Steve’s stomach gives an accompanying _roil._ He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his mouth into a firm line and tries _very hard_ not to join him.

“ _How are my two favorite super sickies doing?_ ”

Bucky groans extra loud and Steve feels the couch dip heavily while Bucky sighs, hears glass scrape briefly on glass before the sound of water swishing and Bucky spitting into the trash can, then more shifting and Bucky swallowing. 

Steve tries to settle his own stomach.

“How long has it been?” he asks instead, forcing his eyes back open a bit.

“ _Since the last check in?_ ” Stark asks from the holoscreen hovering above the coffee table, and even _he_ looks a little sympathetic. Not good. “ _Two hours_.”

Steve and Bucky both _groan_ and the glass clacks heavily onto the table.

“ _Bfuck_ ,” Bucky says emphatically, coughing after. Steve agrees.

“ _So I’m working on this thing_ ,” Stark starts, but they’re both too exhausted to pay attention. 

Two minutes in and Steve’s eyes are closed again. He thinks that might’ve been Stark’s intention, but they’re both too exhausted to care.

\--

When he wakes up again, it’s because _he_ has to quickly lean over the side of the couch for his _own_ trashcan, the soup he’d managed to eat earlier coming back up. Bucky jolts and a foot jabs sharply into his side and Steve lets out a pitiful sound with his head halfway into the trash.

“Sorry Steeb,” Bucky croaks, sniffling, foot rubbing a little against his side, and Steve would snort if he wasn’t busy trying to focus and quiet his stomach. He wipes his mouth off on a tissue he tosses into the trash after before reaching for his own glass of water and swishing it around in his mouth, spitting into the trashcan.

“It’s okay Bucket,” he replies, and Bucky snorts a brief, congested laugh before he has to snatch up another tissue.

The hologram’s still open and Stark pokes his head back into view.

“ _Did you just call him_ -”

Steve wills himself to sleep before Tony can finish that sentence. It’s not hard to do.

\--

_“Steeb, **Steeb** holdn still, will ya,” Bucky complains, nose clogged up and eyes watery._

_“I don’t bneed help, **Bucket** ,” he replies, trying to struggle away. He tries to say ‘Bucky’, but, well-_

_“Didn you just…” Bucky trails off, blinking slowly. Steve takes the pause as an opportunity to get away from Bucky’s blanket holding, outstretched hands and Bucky sparks back into motion. “Hold still-!”_

_“Don’t **bneed** it!” he lets out right back._

_Steve manages to get away for a solid sixty-seconds because they’re **both** sick before his toes catch on a slightly raised floorboard and he stumbles into a wall. Bucky collides into him like they’re two dummies that are **drunk** instead of sick as **dogs**._

_“Gotch’a,” Bucky says, looking as triumphant as he can with a red nose and watery eyes. Steve relents and lets Bucky wrap him up, just this once._

\--

When Steve wakes up next, he still feels miserable, but he can actually brave a trip to the bathroom without his stomach doing more than churning slowly, beyond grateful when nothing coming up.

When he gets back to the couch, Bucky’s propped up a little more against the arm of it, sipping at his glass of room temperature water and making a face at it.

“Two hours left,” he says, sounding far less congested than the _last_ time Steve heard him speak. Steve takes a seat against the other arm of the couch, tangling their legs together and spreading his own blanket back over himself. He picks up his own glass and bends forward, Bucky mirrors him and their glasses clink in companionship.

The holoscreen isn’t floating above the coffee table anymore and Bucky reaches over to grab the remote off of it, turning the tv on.

“Feeling any better, _Steeb?_ ” he asks, lips curling up. Steve shoves at one of Bucky’s legs a little with a foot, his own lips curving up while he focuses on the screen.

“Dunno,” he replies, “Are _you, Bucket?_ ” Bucky snorts and this time he doesn’t need a tissue quite so fast.

“Seventy five years and you’re _still_ not going to let that go,” Bucky mock-grumbles. Steve grins while Bucky settles on a black and white film and drops the remote on top of the overlapping blankets between them. 

There’s rain beating softly against the floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the apartment, cool, gentle light filling the room and Steve melts a little against the arm of the couch, getting cozy. 

He’s sick as a dog for the first time in four years, but he’s got Bucky with him and a good movie on and the relaxation of rain outside. 

All in all, it’s not so bad.

“Nope,” Steve replies, and Bucky shoves him a little back with a foot, but when Steve looks, Bucky’s grinning too, even though his eyes and nose are a little red, “Never.” Bucky looks back at him and his grin softens.

Steve thinks he doesn’t look like he really minds all that much, not even a little.


End file.
